


How to properly smoke a cigar

by raccoonblood



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Angst?, Cigars, Scout just wants to get wasted, Short One Shot, Smoking, Spy is a coward, To be fair i got this idea months ago, and finally finished it, enjoy, my own relationship with my father was strained, so i figured i could incorporate spy n scout into this, wrote this instead of homework
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28723947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raccoonblood/pseuds/raccoonblood
Summary: “Why did you invite me over?”A pause. And then another. And then another. Spy opened his mouth to say something, but his tongue felt like a foreign object. It was heavy and thick. He couldn’t find any words. He didn’t want to find any words.“Je suis ton père,” Spy said with a shaky voice.Scout is invited over to Spys' smoking room for a cigar and a drink. He accepts, but finds it quite awkward, especially since Spy keeps talking in french.
Relationships: Father Son dynamic - Relationship
Comments: 1
Kudos: 34





	How to properly smoke a cigar

**Author's Note:**

> i first drafted this months ago when I had a cigar with my own father, and tf2 brainrot was currently set in. i finally came back months later because i wanted to avoid my homework

The night was quiet. It was cold. Of course it was cold. It was the freakin’ desert. Scout kicked at the sand as he walked towards the main base. Spy invited him over to have a conversation with him, talking about random bullshit and having some fancy french bourbon, maybe get a cigar or two. He didn't know why he was invited, just that he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to have a free smoke. Spy rarely talks to him during battle, much less during their off-time.

The moon was exceptionally bright tonight as Scout knocked on the dark oak door of Spy’s beloved smoking room. Or he assumed it was bright. He was inside after all. He had only been in here once before, during the bread tumor fiasco, but it wasn't for long.

Scout was drumming his fingers on his arm when he heard the various locks of the door get moved. The door opened up and Scout saw the soft glow of the fire illuminating off the walls of the fancy French bastards’ room. Spy’s face changed from a sour expression into one of guilt as he saw who it is. Maybe he was expecting someone else, or maybe nobody. Scout could never tell with him.

“Ah, Scout! Bienvenue! I didn’t think you would show.” Spy admitted as he opened the door to allow the boy inside.

“Hey,” Scout said as he looked around the room. What was there to say? How was he supposed to make small talk to the snobbiest member of the team? 

“Come in! Have a seat. Want something to drink?” Spy asked, walking over to the expensive liquor cabinet he tried to keep stocked at all times. 

Scout nodded, choosing a drab looking chair that seemed to have been pulled out from the closet. Maybe Spy didn’t get a lot of visitors.

Spy picked two glasses and a half-empty bottle of Eagle Rare 17, pouring a generous amount into each. He handed one to Scout and sat down in the armchair facing the fire. Spy kept staring at Scout. It was making the boy feel uncomfortable, but he didn’t know how to explain it.

“So,” Scout drew out, studying the glass he held in his right hand. The way the light shimmered off of it was pretty darn beautiful. It’s the little things that count.

Spy studied him, his eyes glancing from the cigar in his hand to the confused look on his face.

“You need help or something?”

“Yeah, kind of. I’ve only ever had cigs.”

Spy hummed and nodded. He reached over to his side table where he retrieved a small trimmer and his trusty lighter. He passed both over to Scout, waiting.

Scout sat there.

“Trim the head first,”

A pause.

“Trim the what?”

“Trim the head. The end that has the wrapping. Trim it over the rubbish bin so you don’t get any leaves on the floor,”

“Alright,” Scout said, doing as he was told. He cut the cigar and watched the various tobacco bits fall. He liked the way it smelled.

“What now?” he asked, watching Spy puff on his own.

Spy curled his lips gently around the head of his cigar. He had to purse his lips to keep from using his teeth, and because of this, he stared up slightly. A moment passed before he took it between his forefinger and thumb, ashing it over the tray on the table. The smoke flowed out of his mouth like a fog, before he sighed deeply and quickly exhaled the rest of it out.

“Take the lighter and hover the other end of the cigar above the flame. Rotate it slightly,”

Scout, again, did what he was told. He watched as the tobacco began to burn, and the white smoke slowly came into view.

“Now puff on it,”

Scout nodded, a small smile creeping up onto his face. He was excited and bounced his leg slightly, anxious to try this new thing. Without thinking, or watching, he placed the cigar between his lips and inhaled hard. The next thing he knew, he was cupping his mouth and coughing.

Spy rolled his eyes slightly and watch Scout as he nearly doubled over, waiting to see if he needed help.

“You’re supposed to inhale into your mouth. Not your lungs,”

Scout pretended that he knew what Spy was talking about and nodded when he was able to catch his breath again.

Spy sighed again and stared at the floor. He knew there should be small talk, or else it would be weird, but he would rather stay in his own world than admit what he wanted to. He took a sip and looked at the ice.

“Where’d you work before this?” Scout blurted out, catching Spy off guard. He didn’t really have an answer, he was just around. Everywhere, nowhere. It had only been a few years since he joined, but it was all a blur. Everything before now was a blur.

“I can’t recall,” he breathed out eventually.

Scout looked at him. He sounded sad. He never showed any kind of emotion before, or at least none that he could remember. Strange.

“Hey Spy?”

“Hhmm?”

“Why did you invite me over?”

A pause. And then another. And then another. Spy opened his mouth to say something, but his tongue felt like a foreign object. It was heavy and thick. He couldn’t find any words. He didn’t want to find any words.

“Je suis ton père,” Spy said with a shaky voice.

Scout sat there. He didn’t know French, nor did he care to learn it. He just came here to get a free smoke and maybe a buzz going, not to get spoken to in some bullshit European language.

“What the hell does that mean?” he asked, sort of angry. He didn’t like it when he was confused. It made him feel inferior.

“Je suis ton père,” Spy said again, receiving a tremor in his hand as he held his glass. He knew Scout didn’t understand anything he was saying, but the booze didn’t help his anxieties.

Scout huffed slightly and placed the cigar back into his mouth. Screw this. He wouldn’t let anymore talk ruin his free smoke. He reclined in his chair and closed his eyes, paying no mind to the European left of him.

“Father,”

Scouts’ quiet was broken by this simple word. He opened an eye, not moving his position, and stared at Spy.

“What?”

Spy swallowed thickly, placing his glass down.

“I’m a father,” he said.

Scout cocked an eyebrow. 

“Lucky you.” Scout went back to reclining, shifting his weight from one side of the chair to the other.

Spy opened his mouth again to say something but decided it wasn’t worth his time. He swallowed again, reaching back for his glass.

After a couple more awkward questions, Scout decided to part ways. His night was relatively unbothered, just weird at most. When he turned towards the door, he heard Spy mutter the phrase “Je suis si fier de toi.”

He hesitated outside the door, before finally closing it behind him with a thud. Time for his night to end.

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy! sorry it was so short. i guess it's kind of like a vent fic. oh well.


End file.
